Death is a Deep Sleep
by Infernal Racket
Summary: And there, lost in the darkness, she poured out her heart to her deceased father. He was long gone, but his memory would always offer comfort to her troubled soul. A Father's Day fanfic.


**Happy Father's Day to all Father's out there! This is a tribute as such to Cygnus Black's relationship with his daughter. I like to think he he loved his daughters, much more than Druella. Only short, but I couldn't not write something today. (Apologies for poor formatting, as always, my paragraphing sucks because the double space rule confuses me and I just hate my writing being in one big clump) I love reviews, so don't be shy! Co-written with my best buddy. Quotes were used as inspiration. Ciao and enjoy!**

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Narcissa Malfoy pushed feebly on the elaborate wrought iron gate. She inhaled sharply as the neglected metal stole any remaining warmth from her bare hands. The gate emitted a harsh, piercing screech as it opened and she slipped inside.

The evening made her fair skin red as the frosty atmosphere nipped at her defined features.

A cold Northerly wind blew bitterly, leaving a chill across the deserted cemetery and caused strands of loose blonde hair to break free from the confinement of the witch's hood, only to add to her dishevelled appearance.

Overhead, dark clouds hung in the sky and blotted out the full moon from time to time, casting the centuries old cemetery into an inky blackness.

Further afield, a storm could be seen gathering. Lightning flashed in the distance and Narcissa hurried along the dated, cobblestone path to complete the errand in mind that had brought her to such a setting in the middle of the night.

Moving further into the cemetery, a fresh chill ran anew along her spine. The place was haunting.

Greyish-white headstones dotted the landscape before her, most of which were defiled after standing for so long. They looked exhausted; tired of the rain and wind battering against the hard stone night after night.

Everywhere she turned; a silence prevailed, yet not so silent that no noise at all spoke to her un-steadied nerve. Amongst the tree's, the wind whispered, called to her. A bush, its living green now dormant, rattled against a dank unknown headstone.

Narcissa stopped as she came to the end of the rugged path. Before her stood a hard, crystalline slab of marble. It read:

_"Cygnus Black 1938 - 1992_

_Respected pureblood, husband and father"_

Narcissa sank to her knees before it.

Her hands turned to fists and her nails dug into her palms until she felt a warm liquid begin to trickle between her fingers. The pain was still as blinding as the day he died.

Narcissa remembered it well; her mother had sent a nonchalant owl that read _"Your father has passed." _

The combination of her mother's carefree tone and the brutal fact that she would never see her father's kind, dark eyes again made it feel like the world had collapsed and left only her standing. Only her, with the cruel intention of letting her crumble slowly.

It broke her to imagine her father, her daddy, lying cold and stiff in a coffin.

Narcissa clutched at her chest; it felt as though a hand had a tight grip on her heart but had not yet decided whether to tear it out, or leave it there to crack and crumble completely.

Death is a deep sleep. Narcissa liked to think of it like that to take some of the fear away: it is just a very long nap. Every time we sleep and dream, we are practicing for the inevitable departure from the mortal coil. When you close your eyes at night, for a while you bid farewell to the world, and the same is true of the Final Slumber.

Her father was only sleeping, and one day she would join him and they would spend an eternity dreaming together, side by side.

Narcissa lowered her head; her knuckles were white as she gripped a handful of the overgrown, moist grass beneath her.

"Happy Father's Day, daddy." Narcissa whispered faintly.

And there, alone and lost among the dead and buried, Narcissa poured out her heart to her deceased father. He was long gone, but his memory would always offer comfort to her troubled soul.


End file.
